The cigarette butt soaked into the puddle underfoot.
Neon lights shimmered, the ground was damp, and suddenly a large area of ghost images appeared among the passing crowd.
[...You're a *%... maybe...]
Sora's voice also became indistinct.
John's head started to throb, as if a metal needle had been thrust into the chip slot.
He instinctively grasped his neck, his body staggering.
A lit traditional cigarette slipped from his fingers.
It fell into the same puddle, ripples hitting the previously soaked cigarette butt into a mosaic.
The overlapping objects disappeared.
John wanted to make a sound, but couldn't maintain balance, the sights before him intertwining.
Sss—
His artificial eye crazily focused.
A slight mechanical noise, the massive thumping of his heart, and a long, distorted ringing in his ears enveloped the entire world.
Cold sweat trickled down his back.
Ice cold.
